The Great Hogwarts Inspection of 2014
by hiddenhibernian
Summary: The Muggle school inspectorate Ofsted descends on Hogwarts, a calamity not quite on the scale of the Battle of Hogwarts but not far off it.
1. An Inspector Calls

**Originally written for HoggyWartyXmas 2014, for Shiv5468. With deepest sympathy to teachers in England. The level of scrutiny you endure would have led to open revolt in most other professions. I'd also like to thank my wonderful beta Edhla – thanks again, my dear!**

* * *

**Chapter 1 **

** An Inspector Calls**

**-oOo-**

"Thank you for meeting at such short notice." The Headmistress inspected her staff, brusquely torn from their lunch sandwiches or last-minute marking (or sherry, in Sybill's case), for an emergency staff meeting. Even Filch was there, clutching half a Ploughman's lunch in one fist and a flask of tea in the other. There was a breadcrumb on his lip. Instead of brushing it away he proceeded to devour the rest of his lunch, chewing with his mouth open. Minerva looked away rather quickly. "I'm sure you're wondering why I've asked you to-"

"The mundane mind will be puzzled, but those of us with the Sight can See clearly."

There was a snigger from Severus at the back.

"Sybill, I'm sure-" Minerva tried to stem the tide. She may as well not have bothered.

"This is a moment of great peril! I have warned you all, time and time again, but you didn't listen! The school is under threat again, and this time-" Sybill's voice got shriller and shriller.

She was right, of course: she had warned them. At great length. More than a decade of peacetime had been good for Sybill, but eventually the lack of attention had got to her. She'd finally snapped in September this year. Her prophesy had been rather vague, but it had made it abundantly clear that Horrible Things were to be expected in the near future.

Most of the staff had resorted to suddenly remembering urgent appointments when cornered by Sybill expanding on her recent predictions. By virtue of her position, Minerva had been forced to endure several sessions elaborating on possible misfortunes that could befall them. She had little desire to revisit the subject.

"For Heaven's sake, Sybill, be sensible!" she said, a little more impatiently than intended. "We're being inspected by Ofsted, it's hardly on par with the Battle of Hogwarts!"

This meant little to most of the occupants of the room, with some notable exceptions. Hermione's eyes narrowed and she leaned forward. She'd kept up with the Muggle education system, then. Good.

Hopkins, the Muggle Studies teacher, who'd joined Hogwarts from a comprehensive in Windsor, dropped his tea mug on the floor with a loud crack.

"Oh, no," he whimpered. "Not again..."

Filius, who was sitting next to Hopkins in his favourite brocade armchair, patted his shoulder and vanished the mess with a snap of his fingers. "I'm sure it's not as bad as all that, Andy," he said consolingly.

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Hopkins' eyes darted across the room as if he couldn't see his colleagues. "They'll, they'll-" He clenched his fists closed repeatedly, closing his eyes as if to ward off his impending fate.

"Dare I ask who this Ofsted creature is?" Draco Malfoy asked, never happy with being at a disadvantage.

"It's not a person, it's an agency," Hermione explained. "They inspect schools. But I thought they were based in England..."

The last part got lost amidst the general outrage.

"An _inspection_! Minerva, I ask you-"

"And what business do they have at Hogwarts, sticking their noses where they don't belong?"

"Muggles? _Here_?"

"It's the Ministry's doing, it's as plain as the nose on your face!"

"What sort of inspection are we talking about, pray tell?"

"Mark my words, it'll be Umbridge all over again! Next thing we know, we'll have edicts covering the walls again."

"When will these inspectors arrive, Minerva?" Severus, as always, bypassed any expressions of woe and jumped straight to the salient issue. His precise voice cut through the hubbub like a warm knife through butter.

"Tomorrow morning," Minerva replied. The protestations from the rest of the staff died down. The situation was too serious for grumbling. "It's common practice to give minimum notice. The Ministry has offered to help adapt the Anti-Muggle wards, since we hardly have time to do it ourselves."

"I say," Filius said weakly. He knew only too well how much work it took to enable even one Muggle to actually see the school, never mind entering it. Minerva and he had spent weeks preparing for the last Open Day.

"I've printed off information packs," Minerva continued, making hay while they were too stunned to object. "As you can see, we'll be graded in a number of categories..."

* * *

"I'm rather surprised you consented to this, Minerva," Severus said as they walked towards the Headmistress' office to start preparing the documents Ofsted had requested to be furnished in advance. He made sure there was absolutely no inflection to his voice. It had worked with both Albus and the Dark Lord.

"As you well know, I would never have agreed if I'd been given a choice in the first place," she replied tartly.

"Forgive my ignorance, but I was under the impression that Hogwarts was independent of the Ministry. Despite their best efforts, I might add."

"Indeed. And had we not just asked for a rather stupendous grant to upgrade your precious Potions lab, among other things, I could have told them to go hang," Minerva replied, sounding as crisp as the autumn day outside.

"It's not my Potions lab anymore, it's Draco's," Severus pointed out. "And I see your predicament. If we don't get the funding from the Ministry, we'll be waiting until Scorpius Malfoy starts Hogwarts to get a new Quidditch pitch." Narcissa had eventually brought Lucius, traditionally the last resort when the Hogwarts budget was feeling the strain, to realise that the Malfoy fortune wasn't what it once had been.

"If you lot hadn't voted against Scottish independence, we wouldn't be in this fix," Minerva said, reverting to a familiar argument. The wizarding world had narrowly ended up on the "No" side in the recent referendum, just like the Muggles. It was still a sore point with her that so many of the teachers not only had been allowed to vote, despite not even being Scottish, but also had voted to stay in the Union. Wizarding Scotland wasn't so small that the Hogwarts teachers formed their own majority, but they did influence the outcome.

"You know as well as I do it'd be a portacabin in Pitlochry if you'd got your way. An independent Scotland wouldn't be able to fund as much as a new broom cupboard, never mind a new Quidditch pitch." Severus hadn't let being a Northerner influence his vote. Not much. Practical considerations had been quite sufficient for those not blinded by parochial patriotism.

"The Deputy Head is supposed to support the Headmaster or Mistress, Severus," Minerva admonished, but there was a twinkle in her eye.

"I am. I'm about to help you compile a frankly stupendous amount of documents for your precious inspectors. Without a word of complaint, I might add." One quick glance through the 'information pack' had banished any thoughts of sleeping tonight.

"But you never complain, Severus – I don't know where you got the idea from." They swept past a gaggle of third-years who fell quiet in the presence of their professors. None of the children would be able to see past Minerva's rather forbidding countenance, but Severus could see the corner of her mouth lurking upwards as she delivered the coup de grace: "That's what I chiefly admire about you: your sunny disposition."

He had to look away to keep himself from smiling, and hit on a suitably grim subject to distract her.

"What will you do with our esteemed Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Minerva? One whiff of official scrutiny and he'll melt like a chocolate teapot."

It was a sign of how desperate the situation was that she didn't even pretend to challenge his assessment of Hagrid's mettle.

"He's got the flu. For as long as it takes."

Severus would bet his whole collection of elf-made wine that Minerva had put up the wards on the gamekeeper's hut herself.

* * *

The staff turned out in force the following morning, as they waited for the inspectors to arrive. Minerva was accompanied by Severus, Filius, Neville and Rose Barnicott – Transfiguration teacher and recently appointed head of Hufflepuff – on the front steps.

Hermione suspected the reason she'd been asked to join the Heads of Houses was that she was the closest thing they had to a Muggle representative, as it were. Hopkins had been carted off to his quarters yesterday and his lessons had been cancelled, as he'd proved impervious to all of Poppy's Calming Draughts. Hermione was the only available member of staff with even a passing knowledge of the Muggle education system.

Obviously, she'd done as much research as possible. Last night, she'd Apparated over to her parents in Kent to use their laptop. Ofsted was apparently a heated subject, that much she'd established with a quick google.

It was just typical of Percy Weasley to insist on bringing something that clearly worked less than satisfactorily for the Muggles across to the wizarding world. He'd dialled down the pomposity somewhat after the war, but he was still an earnest paper-pusher at heart. It was so _like_ him not to spot the potential pitfalls in a scheme like this.

Hermione had done a bit of Floo'ing last night, too. Gossip was always better in person. Apparently, the Ministry was under pressure from parents of Muggle-borns, anxious to find out what quality of education their children were receiving. Given the level of scrutiny Muggle schools were subject to these days, it was hardly surprising that they weren't content to put their progeny on the Hogwarts Express and wave goodbye for a term.

Nevertheless, if it hadn't been for Percy and his busy-bodying ways, those enquiries would probably have been dealt with perfectly satisfactorily by Minerva. Or Severus.

Despite herself, Hermione couldn't help smiling when she pictured Severus faced with a set of parents concerned with the standards upheld at Hogwarts.

"You seem to have embraced our new overlords, Granger," he said.

"I'm just expressing my delight at being allowed in such august company." Her smile widened at the look of disgust on Severus' face. He didn't fool her.

"As well you may," he told her with asperity, and suddenly there was no more time for talking.

The inspectors had arrived.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Minerva said in accents calculated to strike fear into the hearts of officials everywhere. "I trust you arrived safely?"

"Yes, yes," said the man striding across the lawn, heading the small group. He was tall and sandy-haired, and unlike most people setting foot at Hogwarts for the first time there was not a scrap of wonder on his face. "I take it you're the Headmistress? I'm Timothy Spencer, Her Majesty's Inspector."

He thrust his hand out.

Minerva's expression was carefully blank as she shook it. "I'm Minerva McGonagall. How do you do?"

Further introductions followed, until Filius introduced a discordant note into the proceedings: "Upon my word, if it isn't Stella McNulty! So that's where you ended up, eh?"

The short, stocky woman in the dark suit looked taken aback, but admitted that she was indeed. It transpired that she was the sister of one of Filius' old students. A short glance at Severus was sufficient to confirm that, beneath that supremely indifferent face, he was doing the same calculations as Hermione. They hadn't banked on any of the inspectors being familiar with the magical world.

This would make things much more difficult.

* * *

Spencer having dispatched his team, it fell to Minerva to set one of the younger inspectors up in an unused office with a pile of parchments towering over her head.

The window was open, letting the chilly autumn air in. Owls were still returning with more letters. The inspector visibly squared his shoulder and started off. Minerva was just about to attend to one of several crises she had to sort out this morning when he suddenly spoke:

"What's this mean? 'I don't hold with my son being taught by a Mudblood?'"

"Tsk, tsk," Minerva said, reading the completed parent-outreach survey over his shoulder. "That'll be Owen Rosier, unless I'm much mistaken. Yes, indeed. Nasty man. Desiderata is a perfectly lovely girl, though."

"But what's a Mudblood?"

Having brushed off the inspector's question – he was perfectly welcome to consult the library, should he wish to educate himself on the matter – Minerva proceeded to the next item on her list.

The unfortunate Hopkins was showing no signs of being fit to return to his duties, which meant that a replacement had to be found for his three lessons today. Hermione, the obvious choice, had a full timetable. Neville, while perfectly willing to step into the breach, would be an accident waiting to happen. Most of the older teachers were so far removed from contemporary Muggle society that she preferred to keep them away from the Muggle Studies classroom and its bewildering display of modern technology. Today of all days, Minerva would prefer if they all made it through in one piece.

Which left her with Severus and Draco.

They didn't pay her anywhere near enough for this job, but she'd bet her last Galleon that wouldn't be in Mr Spencer's precious report.


	2. Great Little School, If It Wasn't For

**Chapter 2 **

**Great Little School, If It Wasn't For The Students**

**-oOo-**

Severus was in full sweep down the corridor on the first floor, bearing down on the DADA classroom and his waiting third-years. A chance word made him slow down and then imperceptibly fade into the shadows. The inspector speaking to the group of fourth-years by the stairs didn't noticed him, and neither did the students.

"We don't like Slytherins. Hufflepuffs are OK, I suppose, but not too bright," the spotty nincompoop with the adenoids said. Baxter, was it? Severus had to restrain himself from giving him a well-deserved smack to the back of his head.

"I see. Are there any tensions between the students in different houses?" The inspector jotted something down on his clipboard.

"Like what?" Gods knew how Mr Gormless had ended up in Ravenclaw.

"Teasing, bullying, that sort of thing?" Ofsted must have scraped the bottom of the barrel when hiring, if the quality of the questions was any indication.

"Nah. Someone was sent home last term for starting a fight in the changing room, but otherwise it's just house rivalry, innit? Normal, like?" The student contrived to look even more vacuous than before.

"Sam Robinson got detention for hitting Natasha Dolohov with a Stinging Hex last week," the girl next to him piped up.

"With a what, now?" The inspector scratched his head with his Muggle monstrosity of a pen. Severus infinitely regretted not being able to assign him an essay, five foot long, on how to preserve order in a school where several of the students had relatives who had killed the family members of other students.

That wasn't part of the bloody framework for inspections, was it?

* * *

"Very good, Mr Ramsbotton. Ten points for Hufflepuff, and no homework today. Class dismissed!" Filius flicked his wand to tidy up a few rogue shards of china. He'd had his fourth-years practising Banishing Charms, and some of the students had been a little too enthusiastic when dispatching the blue and white porcelain vases he'd conjured for them.

"Now then, inspector, do you have any questions?" He finally acknowledged the woman at the back of the class. When the students had started sending china in all directions across the room she'd started violently, and she hadn't quite been able to hide her wonder at the objects moving against all Muggle laws of nature. She appeared to have recomposed herself, however, and asked several unobjectionable questions about the subject taught today and the students' progress.

So unlike that Umbridge creature, Filius mused, before the inspector proceeded to non-educational matters.

"Have you been provided with appropriate accommodations for your disability, sir?" the inspector asked. The only sign that she wasn't entirely comfortable with the subject was a slight pinkness to her cheeks.

"What disability?" Filius was genuinely perplexed for a second, before he realised what she meant. Apparently the fact that he was considerably shorter than most people was too delicate a matter to mention outright, while labelling it a disability somehow wasn't.

"Em- Your- Sir-" the inspector stuttered, and he took pity on her. He wasn't a cruel man, no matter what Rolanda said about the Quidditch team and their four-week detention.

Filius simply levitated himself upwards until he was eye-level with the by now red-faced inspector and said kindly: "I find that I don't need any special accommodation, as a rule. I am a wizard, you know."

* * *

"Professor Snape! Wait!" The breathless words were accompanied by smattering steps on the flagstones.

"We generally discourage the students from running in the corridor," Severus informed the panting inspector. His disapproving glare seemed to bounce right off the younger man.

"Sorry, sir!" the man said in much too cheerful tones. "It's just that I had to catch you while I had the chance, and you weren't walking half quickly down those stairs."

"I'm a busy man, Inspector."

The hint went far above the dunderhead, as expected: "I'm sure you are, Professor."

"Was there a particular reason why you wished to consult me, or did you simply wish to obtain your daily exercise?" Severus tried again.

"Oh, right. I got to the classroom I was assigned, and there's no teacher in there!"

Severus turned around, leaving the inspector bobbing in his stride, almost running to keep up.

Inside the History of Magic classroom, Binns was droning on about witch-burnings in Aquitaine in the Early Middle Ages to the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw third-years. Had Severus been inclined to be reasonable, he may have admitted that the class showed few signs of being engaged by the lecture.

Or, indeed, of listening to it at all.

Brown was doing a roaring trade in Chocolate Frog Cards at the back, a gaggle of Quidditch aficionados were hunched over _Which Broomstick_, and most of the others appeared to be lost on that serene state between sleeping and waking.

Severus was not willing to concede an inch, however. "The teacher is a ghost, and therefore invisible to Muggles. Like you."

"You're saying you believe there's a ghost in there?" The young man looked like he couldn't decide whether to pity Severus or to start running again, in the other direction this time.

"It's not a matter of belief. To me, and any other magical person, it's simply a matter of observation."

Most of the class had abandoned any pretence of listening to Binns. Some of the Gryffindors didn't even bother to hide their eavesdropping, and Severus was itching to dock them points. He drew the line somewhere, though: it would be a truly momentous blunder that would see him admonish the students in front of the inspector.

"So they can all see him?" The idiot peered around the classroom, as if persistence would supersede the laws of nature.

"Naturally."

Binns hadn't even noticed the debate by the door: it was fortunate there was no way Ofsted could observe him in action. Minerva had been on the verge of retiring him by force several times, but budgetary concerns always won out. Severus suspected she had a soft spot for the old codger. He drew the line at pondering why.

"What'll I do then?" God's gift to inspectordom appeared to be undecided, and Severus hiked his eyebrows a little higher. The blockhead didn't even notice.

"May I kindly request that you conduct this riveting review of your current options away from this classroom? While you may be oblivious to the lesson being conducted inside, I can assure you that's not the case for the students."

By now even the dimmer Gryffindors had caught on, and appeared to be hanging on Binns' every word. Severus contended himself with a quelling look, to make sure they stayed on their best behaviour, as he returned the inspector to the realms of the living.

"This way, Inspector? You may find some teaching even you can observe in this direction, although I won't venture to guarantee it."

* * *

Inspector Khan had been rubbing his hands for the last ten minutes, fighting off the inevitable stiff fingertips, but otherwise he seemed to be impervious to the freezing dungeon air.

Draco, fortified with several warming charms and a pair of longjohns knitted by the Malfoy house-elves, was unwillingly impressed.

Khan had lingered in front of the pickled two-headed snake when he'd first entered the room, but as soon as the students had started barging in with their usual lack of coordination – Severus was right, teenagers were extraordinarily clumsy – he'd sat down at the back of the room.

During the class Khan had silently observed the discussion of the limitations of Everlasting Elixirs, and the students' subsequent attempts to juice leeches without spilling most of the extracted liquid. He'd been using one of those Muggle Biro contraptions Hermione insisted on polluting the staffroom with, so Draco hadn't even heard the scratching of his quill.

Despite – or possibly because – his efforts to remain unobtrusive, he'd been a veritable carbuncle on Draco's mind through the whole class.

Normally the Potions classroom was Draco's domain. It was neat, orderly and quiet, once the students had settled down, and that was just the way he liked it. He'd always been partial to this room, ever since he'd first heard Severus' famous speech for the first-years. Being in charge made it even better. He knew what was bubbling in the cauldrons, and whether it was going well or if he should be ready with a Containment Spell. He knew his students; one wispy Malfoy eyebrow usually sufficed to subdue them, or make them tell him what ailed them.

When he'd been taken on as the Potions teacher after the war, the parallels to Severus had been obvious. Most people had been surprised when Draco had turned out to be quite a different sort of teacher.

Then again, as Severus never tired of pointing out, most people were idiots.

Severus was much better at making potions than Draco was, but Draco knew he was a far better teacher. He'd never had the sort of mind that couldn't be satisfied unless it was pushing the boundaries of magic, but he was infinitely better equipped to deal with an eleven-year-old making the same basic mistake the fifth time in a row.

Draco left it to Severus and Granger to debate discoveries over the breakfast table and work on articles in their spare time. He was quite content to ensure that the next generation of wizards could brew potions to the best of their capability and leave the theorising to the experts.

Severus regarded errors in the Potions classroom as a personal affront. Fortunately for the students, he viewed his role as DADA rather differently. As far as Draco could make out, his aim was to ensure the students could defend themselves and others when the next Dark Lord inevitably rose. In the name of effectiveness, he was willing to overlook simple mistakes which would have earned the culprit the sharp end of his tongue when he was teaching Potions.

Draco wasn't convinced Severus finally had realised that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, but he had certainly curved his tendency to verbally eviscerate the students after the war.

"Attention, Fortescue," Draco said sharply. "It'd be a shame to waste all your hard work." He flicked his wand to whisk the vial out of harm's way, but Fortescue managed to contain her wayward elbows on her own accord.

He eyed the tidy row of vials with unappetising liquid – leech juice was just as vile to look at as it was to drink – and dismissed the class with a short nod. They'd done well, and they knew it. They were still relatively quiet as they filtered out the door, but the smatterings of conversation that surfaced above the rustle of robes and book bags was bright and happy.

Ordinarily, Draco would have relaxed slightly in his chair and enjoyed the buzz of a good lesson, but today there was the slight matter of the Ofsted inspector.

Draco made no effort to move, so it was left to Inspector Khan to make his way through the empty classroom towards his desk.

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy. That was rather interesting."

Draco merely inclined his head; of course magic would be interesting to a Muggle.

"I think all my questions have been covered." Khan leafed through his stack of horrid, flimsy Muggle printouts, until he found the one he was looking for. "Except for one matter. Is it correct that your father is a governor of the school?"

"Yes. There has been a Malfoy on the Board of Governors since 1255." He forbore to mention the recent interval – his father had been reinstated a few years after the war, so it was just a short blip on an otherwise perfect record.

"I see. What measures have you put in place to deal with the potential conflict of interest?"

Draco drew himself up to his full height, dwarfing the inspector even when sitting down: "I can assure you there is no conflict between our interests. They are entirely aligned, as is proper." He let his cold gaze rest on the inspector for an uncomfortably long time, to reinforce the message.

The Malfoys may have had their differences in the past, but they had learnt something from the recent war. Never again would they let causes get in the way of family.

* * *

Minerva had shortbread and tea ready in her office for Mr Spencer and their end-of-day appointment. There was no reason to be uncivil.

Spencer barely allowed enough time to pour some milk into his tea before launching into his checklist. A large number of headings dismissed with dizzying speed, before he got down to brass tacks:

"As regards to the safety assessment, I have some questions about the teachers."

Minerva had had enough of questions about the most basic matters to last a lifetime, but she nodded warily. She had a premonition she wouldn't like the direction of Spencer's enquiries.

"If I understand correctly, you have two war criminals on staff?" He pronounced the words 'war criminals' as if he couldn't quite believe the term was sullying his lips, and Minerva had to restrain herself from giving him a piece of her mind. His mealymouthness would benefit from a history lesson and some empathy, but unfortunately she wasn't in a position to deliver either.

"Neither Severus or Draco have been convicted of any crimes whatsoever," she pointed out. "If you're basing your evaluation on hearsay, your assessment criteria are less stringent than I have been led to believe.

To give Spencer some credit, he was at least bright enough to spot a dead end.

"Speaking of Mr Malfoy, and his appointment," he continued instead, "I believe he has no formal qualifications whatsoever. He appears to have commenced his teaching career immediately after concluding his own secondary education, with no further training."

"Mr Malfoy is a valued member of the teaching staff, with an excellent track record," Minerva retorted. "Have you found any reason to question his competence when looking at what actually matters, rather than matters of ancient history at this stage?"

"Well, no, I suppose not." Spencer seemed to find the direct attack disconcerting – perhaps he wasn't used to being challenged – but doggedly pursued his assault. "It does raise questions about your recruitment policies, however." He shuffled his bunch of notes, seemingly unaffected by the affronted stare levelled at him. Member of the Wizengamot had folded for less. "There appears to be no representatives of ethnic minorities among the teaching staff."

"Mr Spencer, one of our teachers is a Centaur. I defy you to find a representative of a smaller minority in any school in Britain." Belatedly, Minerva remembered her tea, and took a long sip to give her strength.

"One of the teachers is a _what_?"

"Centaur. I'm quite sure it was explained in the inspection documents." All seven hundred pages of them.

Mr Spencer appeared to momentarily have lost the ability to speak. "A Centaur," he said heavily once he had recomposed himself. "I thought that was his surname."

* * *

After the extremely wearying encounter with Mr Spencer had drawn to a close, it was time for a very late staff meeting. To give them credit, every single member of staff – except Hagrid, who'd been strictly forbidden from leaving his hut – had turned up. Most of the complaining ceased as Minerva appeared.

She hadn't even had time to confer with Severus, but seeing his familiar black-robed appearance, all buttoned up as usual, in the brown leather armchair in front of the fire was as comforting to her as a warm handshake.

At least she wasn't alone in this.

Hermione was sitting next to him, a warm glow heating her cheeks. She straightened up as she saw Minerva, neatly stacking the journals she'd scattered around her in a little pile by her feet. Severus summoned the last straggler from his side of the fire, and it landed with a little 'flop' just as Minerva cleared her throat.

"Thank you for your efforts today. We have one more day of inspection to go, and I have every confidence we shall emerge successfully at the other side if we can get through tomorrow without any fatalities. Or serious injuries. Mr Spencer was quite concerned with our safety record."

Severus's eyebrows drifted upwards minutely; apparently he didn't believe her cheery summary of events. He'd have to wait until after the meeting – there was no point alarming the rest of the staff until they'd received the inspection results. Sybill, for example, was unlikely to impress the inspectors if she was even more rattled than she already was.

"What are our orders for tomorrow, then?" You could always rely on Filius to nudge a meeting along in the direction Minerva wanted it to go.

"Carry on as usual. Just- Just try not to do anything the inspectors will pick up on. Especially when it comes to the safety of the students." Minerva had finally managed to persuade Spencer that The Giant Squid was unlikely to kill any students if it had been harmless for the last three hundred years, but it had been a trying half-hour.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do about Quidditch practice in the morning, then? Tether the brooms to the ground so no one can fall off?"

"Splendid idea, Rolanda. I knew I could rely on you." Minerva rose to dismiss the meeting. Maybe it would all look better in the morning.

Maybe pigs would be able to fly by then.


	3. Don't Mention the War

**Chapter 3 **

**Don't Mention the War**

**-oOo-**

"You look pleased."

"Hmm?" Hermione tore her attention from her colour-coded class list. If she moved Guthrie to the second tutorial– "Oh, it's you."

"Evidently."

"You could have been Polyjuiced," she pointed out to annoy him, and there was an appreciative flicker in Severus' dark eyes.

"If I wish to debate useless contingencies I'll seek out Sybill, not you," he said.

"Flattering. You seek me out, then? May I ask for what?" She smiled at him, looking as guileless as she could manage.

"I was under the impression the staff room was for the use of all teachers, not just those with more hair than wit," he said. Hermione would have wilted, if she hadn't had the best part of a decade to get to know him as an adult. As it was, she simply moved Simpkins to a better slot on her chart and waited.

"Well, then?" Severus prodded.

"I was just inspected. It went well, I think," she explained, before deciding it wasn't quite enough. She put her class list down to try and regularise her disjointed thoughts instead. "I quite enjoyed it, actually – and there is no need to look at me like I'm raising Voldemort from the dead, thank you very much."

Severus did settle back down, but the look on his face was incredulous enough to make further explanations necessary.

"It was nice to talk to someone who speaks the same language as I do. You know I've been keeping up with Muggle developments," – that was a big word for reading the Sunday newspapers, but it was more than most wizards did – "and I finally had someone who understood what I was talking about."

"You're forgetting Hopkins," Severus pointed out.

"I don't speak ill of my colleagues," Hermione said with as much dignity as she could muster, ignoring the way her mouth kept twitching.

"Very wise," Severus agreed. "At least while you're still in the staffroom."

* * *

"And then I'd like to see the list of emergency contacts for the students..." Inspector McNulty had a seemingly inexhaustible list of documents she wished to 'just cast an eye at', and Irma's fixed smiled had started faltering several hours ago. Minerva hadn't bothered pretending; she rather thought a forbidding countenance might be more efficient.

"Of course," Irma said, summoning a roll of parchment from the downstairs archive. Unrolling it, she showed McNulty the neat rows of student names, next of kin and addresses, and the inspector crossed off yet another item on her list.

Minerva barely managed to suppress a groan as McNulty turned the page over and revealed a new page, full of documents deemed essential by Ofsted. Reading the neat print upside down – some Muggle inventions were quite clever – she did a quick mental review of the Hogwarts archives. Staff sick days would pose no difficulties, but when it came to their health and safety records it was quite a different matter.

Thank heavens for wandless magic.

* * *

"Hello? Anyone here?"

Neville glanced up from his squirming Screechsnaps. The Ofsted inspector looked out of place in his greenhouses with her prim Muggle clothing and spiky heels. He couldn't remember her name, but she was one of the junior inspectors. Maybe that accounted for the way she was peering around her in unconscious fascination: the head inspector seemed far too focused on his checklists to notice the beauty of Hogwarts.

"Over here." He raised his voice slightly, careful not to annoy the skittish plants he was pruning.

"Oh, there you are!" Her voice was quite high-pitched – every vowel made the Screechsnaps twitch under Neville's hands. "Mr Longbottom, isn't it?"

The sharp click-click-click of her heels seemed strange among the soft greenery. There were no sharp edges among the furry petals and winding branches of Neville's plants, just endless variations on the same theme. He'd drawn it as a child: root, branch and leaves. Flowers were optional. The inspector's geometrical shapes and black clothes were the opposite of Neville's world of growing things.

That was no reason to be rude, though.

"It is. I'm afraid I didn't catch your name?"

It turned out to be White, Florence White. As she dithered admiring his plants, Neville wondered if she dressed all in black on purpose, or if the contrast to her surname simply hadn't occurred to her.

Eventually she seemed to get to the reason for her visit: "Would you mind if- It's not really anything to do with the inspection, but I just wondered... Would it be alright if I asked you a few questions about the history of the school?" She fingered her cuff, but she didn't need to worry.

Neville was quite used to being approached by parents and visitors who were intimidated by his rather formidable colleagues. Even Hermione, with all her experience of campaigning on behalf of the public, wasn't exactly what you'd call approachable. Most people were acutely aware of being less intelligent than she was, even if she did nothing to remind them of the fact. He didn't mind: maybe that was his special talent.

At least being friendly was more useful that Sybill's once-in-a-lifetime prophesies.

"I don't mind. Ask away." Absentmindedly, Neville snapped off a shoot growing in the wrong direction, giving the plant a light pat at the same time.

"All those references to the war – that's not the Second World War, is it? It's just that it doesn't seem to fit..."

"No, you're right. Although wizards do live longer than Muggles – ordinary people, I mean – so there's still a few people on staff who were around in the Forties." Too late, he remembered that Aurora would not take kindly to being reminded about her age. You didn't ask her twice if she remembered The Blitz.

Thankfully, Florence White's curiosity ran in a different direction.

"So which war was it, then? Hardly the Falklands?" She may as well have been talking Advanced Potion-Making to Neville, but he was quite sure there had been no Falkland among the Death Eaters.

"No, it was a wizarding war. You wouldn't have heard of it." Sometimes he'd wondered how it could all have passed them by, but Muggles seemed to be very adept at not noticing things.

Hermione had explained to him how it was due to something called 'conformation bias' once in the staff room. It had been quite interesting, until she started arguing with Snape about the definition of cognitive dissonance. Neville had escaped when they'd started summoning journals to back up their arguments. That never ended well.

"I see." White's gaze was surprisingly sharp. "It must have made quite an impact on your world, though."

"You could say that." The war was still an unspoken item on the agenda of every single staff meeting. With James Potter and Marguerite Rosier starting Hogwarts this year, it promised to remain there for the foreseeable future.

"When was this Battle of Hogwarts everyone keeps talking about?" The inspector hastily drew her hand back from the Fanged Geranium when she noticed how close it had got to her fingers.

"The 4th of May, 1998," Neville replied automatically. Some days you never forgot, not for as long as you lived.

"Oh, so recently! No wonder, then. Did you- Were you here then?"

"Yes." When he'd taken up his post, Neville had eventually been forced to talk to Snape about their common experiences in the war. Snape had probably preferred to keep ignoring it, but Neville had learnt enough from his contemporaries to know that unspoken things will fester.

Predictably, it had been an excruciatingly awkward conversation.

Snape had acknowledged as much at the end, admitting that only the combination of Hermione's tearful apologies and Harry's earnest admiration just after the war had been worse. Neville had actually laughed at that; his friends couldn't have made it worse for their old professor if they'd tried.

Other than that, he didn't need to talk about the war much. Most people knew what they needed to know.

"You were? Did you see any of the fighting, or did the army evacuate you?" Miss White was all innocent enquiry.

"The army?" Neville asked blankly.

"Yes, the wizarding army or whatever you'd call them."

He laughed, in earnest surprise. "There was no army. There was only us. The teachers, and some students, and all the other people who came to help us defending Hogwarts."

"So the teachers-"

"Yes. Professor Hopkins and Professor Barnicott weren't here then, but the rest of us were fighting." He didn't think it was necessary to mention which side Draco had fought on.

Miss White was only recalled to the present when the Fanged Geranium finally got close enough to get a bite out of her leather glove. She yelped and jumped back, before she picked up the thread of their conversation again.

"That explains a lot. About Professor Snape in particular."

Neville knew you didn't explain to Ofsted inspectors that you can forgive someone for being a horrendous teacher because they were on the right side when it mattered. He couldn't tell Miss White what it was like seeing that terrible year from the other side afterwards, spotting all the times Snape had prevented things from escalating disastrously.

He didn't tell her how he'd woken up in the middle of the night during his first term as a teacher, heart hammering wildly because he wasn't absolutely sure he'd checked that all the first-years were out of the greenhouse. It was only then he'd realised the extent of the appalling responsibility that had rested on Snape's shoulders back then.

He just nodded instead.

* * *

"If there are differences between groups of pupils?" Lucius Malfoy's affronted stare would have sent better men running for the hills, but Her Majesty's Inspector Spencer was undeterred. This was hardly the first time he'd faced haughty aristocrats who couldn't believe that they were subject to the law, just like everyone else.

"That was the question, Mr Malfoy."

"And you say you're from Stumped. Not the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Ofsted, sir. We have nothing to do with the Department of Magical anything, I'm afraid," Spencer said with an attempt at light irony. He could have spared his breath.

"I see," Malfoy replied coldly, without actually answering the question. Well, two could play this game.

The stand-off lasted several minutes until Spencer gave in. He, unlike the patrician twit on the other side of the table, had a schedule to keep.

"Are there differences between groups of pupils in the school, Mr Malfoy? Like boys and girls, for example?" he tried again.

"Boys and girls? So that's-" The man seemed genuinely surprised, and Spencer revised his opinion of him. Malfoy simply couldn't be as smooth as he appeared if a simple question like that took him by surprise.

The interview proceeded at snail's pace. Mr Malfoy managed to convey his disbelief of there being anything amiss at all in the way Hogwarts was run, without doing anything as plebeian as actually saying so. The supercilious sneer was plastered on his face almost all the way to the end, when Spencer remembered that he hadn't asked one of the stock questions yet.

"How is your school performing compared with other schools with a similar intake of pupils?"

Malfoy actually seemed to thaw a little. "Well, we've always outperformed Bauxbatons, of course. The French may be dab hands at Charms, but they simply don't have the stamina for advanced Potions work. Durmstrang, now, they've gone from strength to strength, and yet a few simple things let them down..."

He even pulled his wand out to show a few statistics, constructing elegant tables hovering in the air between them. Spencer barely had time to jot down the key figures before Malfoy flicked his wand again to rearrange the numbers from another angle.

A trace of the enthusiasm Malfoy had shown when pontificating on Durmstrang's poor results in Herbology lingered when they shook hands at the end. It almost made Spencer change his opinion about him.

At least he seemed to care about the school, unlike some governors the inspector had come across.

* * *

Minerva looked pale.

Severus' sharp eyes took in the pandemonium in the staffroom: Filius and Rose Barnicott were engaged in a lively debate which seemed to have something to do with parent surveys, Longbottom was boring Hermione with something organic and Sybill had descended on the unfortunate Hopkins, whose left eye was twitching alarmingly. It was only this afternoon he'd emerged from his quarter, and if Severus was any judge he'd be running back there soon.

It was obvious to the meanest intelligence that there was nothing wrong with Hopkins that a backbone transplant wouldn't address, but then Minerva had always been too soft for her own good when it came to the staff.

If she thought she could talk Severus into covering for Hopkins the Hapless again she was mistaken. He'd done it yesterday, thereby ensuring Minerva would find it impossible to turn down the next favour he asked her. It was going to be a rather large one. Teaching Muggle Studies hadn't been a complete waste of his time; he'd made sure the fifth- and sixth-years had a basic understanding of how ruinous the Thatcher years had been for Britain.

There was no point teaching them to fight Dark Lords if they were unable to spot more subtle forms of evil.

No doubt Hermione would be appalled if she found out that he'd let his political views colour his teaching; that just showed how much she knew. Voldemort's agenda had been political, too. Severus supposed she was too young to remember. It was disconcerting to recall that she'd been a child during most of the formative events of his life.

He brushed the thought away as Minerva cleared her throat. The staffroom fell silent.

"I'm afraid I have bad news. Mr Spencer has given me a draft of his report-"

As if by magic, the staff drifted closer without visibly moving. A moment ago, they had been scattered across the room, but now they formed a loose circle around their headmistress. Severus could have sworn Rose had been sitting down, but in the blink of an eye she'd moved just north of the flimsy Muggle pages Minerva was clutching in her left hand.

"I may as well tell you straight away. There's a lot of handwringing in there, concerns about safety and safeguarding and what have you, but the core of the matter is-"

If Minerva'd had an ounce of theatrics in her, Severus would have suspected her of stringing out the pause to make the staff hang on her every word. He knew very well that she despised such tactics, though, and for the first time he felt an inkling of fear. If it was so bad that she could hardly bring herself to say it out loud, then...

"Minerva, please!" Filius spoke for all of them.

"I managed to convince Mr Spencer not to close the school with immediate effect."

Rose Barnicott clutched her pearls, Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously, and Severus realised that he'd pulled his wand out.

"However," Minerva continued heavily, "the inspection will continue until further notice. Until Mr Spencer is satisfied that Hogwarts meets the standards required for boarding schools."

The room exploded.

"The interfering, encroaching busybody! If I ever get my hands on him-"

"To his standards, he means? What does a Muggle know about running a magical school, that's what I'd like to know!"

"This is the outside of enough! Insufferable!"

"And we're supposed to just accept that, are we? Just like that? No discussion, no scrutiny – just his word for it?"

"Look here: it says our rating is 'Inadequate'! I'll tell you who's inadequate around here-"

Above the dim, Sybill's voice crowed: "It is just as I foretold! Untold calamity has befallen us! None of you would listen to me!"

"I will _kill_ Percy," Hermione muttered next to Severus, rather more accurate than her colleagues at pinpointing the the source of their misfortunes. If Severus had been the dunderhead responsible for calling in Ofsted to Hogwarts, he would have started running now.


	4. A Slytherin Solution To A Gryffindor

**Chapter 4 **

**A Slytherin Solution To A Gryffindor Problem**

**-oOo-**

"Gin and tonic? Do you think I'm made of money?"

Hermione didn't roll her eyes, but it was a close thing. "For God's sake, you're on at least twice as much as me, plus your Ministry stipend. Save me the poor mouth act."

"Waste not, want not," Snape said, but as he already was on his way to Aberforth at the bar it was a token protest only. He was the one who'd suggested heading down here to escape the funereal atmosphere at the castle, so Hermione would jolly well drink what she fancied.

He plonked the dubiously clean glass in front of her, and she made a show of pouring the whole mixer bottle into the gin instead of saving half for the next round. Severus was unmoved by her extravagance.

"You're getting the next one, so if you want to squander your money that's your problem," he said.

"Just like it's the Ministry's affair whether it decides to give its money to Hogwarts, you mean?" she retorted.

His sour look could have curdled milk.

"Gryffindors might face calamity with poor jokes. In Slytherin, we favour action."

"Really, because – " Hermione started, before she decided that someone had to be the bigger person and it was unlikely to be Severus. "What in Merlin's name are we going to do?" she asked instead.

Severus drained most of his pint of bitter before he replied. "The only course of action I can think of is to announce an outbreak of Dragon Pox. That, or we'll have to make do with the old Quidditch pitch until Weasley retires from the Ministry."

Quidditch left Hermione unmoved, but she badly needed new textbooks for her Advanced course. Arithmancy grimoires did not come cheap.

"There must be another way," she insisted.

"You're the perennial optimist, you come up with something. I'm afraid all my ideas are liable to get someone arrested." Severus brightened up slightly. "Then again, if we could frame Hopkins it might kill two dragons with one hex..."

* * *

"No. He'll quit soon and go back to teaching Muggles, no need to punish the man further-" Hermione let the sentence drift, trying to remember exactly what she'd just said. "Hold on, I think I've got something..." Pressing her fingertips to her temples, she tried to cajole the ghost of an idea into coming back.

"Good morning, Mr Spencer." Hermione's voice was firmly on the wrong side of chirpy, the sort of effort that makes everyone else hate early risers. The Head Inspector, on the other hand, looked like he hadn't slept at all, if Severus was any judge.

Excellent.

Rubbing his eyes, Spencer tried to smother a yawn. "Good morning to you," he replied. He just glared at Severus, who glared back.

"Did you sleep well?" Hermione asked innocently.

"No, as you can see I didn't. I'm a busy man, Miss Granger – I'd appreciate if we could get to the point of this meeting. My schedule is rather full today."

"As you wish, Inspector." Hermione was always at her most dangerous when she agreed with you. She sent a dazzling smile the Inspector's way. "Since you prefer to tackle the issue head on, we'll speak to you plainly. This inspection has to end. Now."

Spencer looked blank – the poor bastard obviously had no idea that he was about to be hit with Hermione Granger in full crusader mode. Severus almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

"As much as I'm loath to disappoint you, Miss Granger, I'm afraid that is not within my powers," Spencer said with a poor effort at sarcasm. Most of Severus' second-year Slytherins could do better.

"I think it is." Hermione dropped the act. She'd never been very good at it pretending to be conciliatory, anyway.

"Of course I can do it. I would be failing in my duty if I did, however – in all my years with Ofsted, I've have never come across anything remotely like Hogwarts. There's not even a fire alarm – "

Severus had been content to let Hermione direct the conversation, but that particular piece of stupidity got too much for him. "Have you inspected many magical schools before, Inspector? Clearly only a dunderhead would compare –"

Hermione's surprisingly sharp elbow stopped him off mid-sentence. She was still deplorably Muggle in some ways – Minerva would have Stunned him instead.

"Excellent. So you can do it, it's just a matter of convincing you that concluding the inspection is the best course of action," Hermione continued smoothly, ignoring the two of them.

Spencer looked at her with disapproval.

"I'm not a man to change my mind on a whim, Miss Granger."

"I didn't think you were." She leaned back slightly in her armchair. They were using Minerva's office. Hermione had gone straight for the most comfortable chair before Spencer even had registered that they'd be sitting near the fireplace rather than around the Headmistress' desk.

Until now, Severus hadn't noticed that it also left Hermione sitting slightly higher up than the inspector. She had learnt something from him over the years, then.

"You did say that you prefer to go straight to the issue, so that's what I will do. Frankly, applying Muggle assessment criteria to Hogwarts is ludicrous. While some elements of teaching are the same, our respective worlds are so different that you simply can't arrive here with no prior knowledge and expect to draw any valid conclusions whatsoever."

Spencer audibly drew his breath, but Hermione continued on relentlessly.

"It would be similar to you arriving in India without ever having been there before, and expect to evaluate their education system like you would in England. Rather arrogant, I think, but that's hardly your fault."

Severus wasn't so sure, but he wasn't about to quibble just as she was getting into her stride.

"Therefore, I have no compunctions in putting a stop to this travesty, using whatever means necessary."

Spencer probably didn't know that Hermione had fought in a war before she was out of her teens, but he did have enough sense to look apprehensive.

"And believe me, Mr Spencer, you have no idea what means are at the disposal of an even moderately competent wizard," she added.

"Are you threatening me?"

"I'm simply providing you with all the relevant information." Her light tone didn't fool anyone, although Severus thought she probably did intend it that way. Threats weren't Hermione's way.

"Do you know why you didn't sleep a wink last night?"

Spencer started.

"You may not be able to see the ghosts here at Hogwarts, but you can certainly hear them."

That wasn't strictly true, of course; if the Bloody Baron sailed up to the inspector and spoke to him, he wouldn't hear a word. However, if someone – the Head of Slytherin, say – had a friendly word with the Baron and the ghost subsequently dedicated himself to make as much noise as possible in the inspector's bedroom, he would certainly be able to hear that.

Last night, Hermione had found a set of maracas in the stationery cupboard. Apparently, the sound they made after she'd added enhancement charms would wake the dead. Figuratively speaking, of course.

While Spencer was busy figuring out what to say Hermione ploughed on. "I believe breakfast wasn't to your satisfaction, either. Something with the tea, was it?"

Severus had supplied the house-elves with a little something for the inspector's morning cuppa. He wasn't surprised when Spencer refused to elaborate, despite clearly wanting to. Discussing your bowels in public was considered gauche even among Ofsted employees.

"Don't worry. It won't be in the tea the next time." Hermione's smile was terrifying.

"If you should consider alternative accommodation, I feel compelled to point out that it's perfectly within our powers to make them equally uncomfortable," Severus added. He didn't bother with a smile, but the inspector seemed to get the message anyway.

"If you think blackmail will make me pack my bags and run, you can think again," Spencer said with commendable calm.

"No, I don't expect it will. With regards to your staff, however..." Hermione let him draw his own conclusions. Judging by his frown, he did not ascribe his own fortitude to the junior inspectors.

"I cannot speak for others, but I will do my duty whatever the conditions." Before Spencer could elaborate on this theme, Hermione changed tack.

"I'm glad you mentioned that. I think that's where the crux of the matter is, you see." For all the world, she sounded as if she were in the thick of a friendly discussion on the properties of wand-wood. "You consider it your duty to ensure that the students here receive the best possible education, is that correct?"

Spencer looked like he wanted to disagree, but didn't know how.

"Yes," he admitted eventually and Hermione beamed at him. Severus could have told him that he was done for now.

"Well, only consider if you get your way and the school is closed. All those little wizards and witches will have to go back into mainstream education. The whole purpose of Hogwarts is to teach them to control their magic. What do you think would happen if they were released on the unsuspecting Muggles, Mr Spencer?"

"Clearly – I'd imagine special measure must be put in place –"

"Like the ones we have here at Hogwarts, you mean? I assure you I'm not exaggerating when I tell you it would be impossible to put in anything resembling the safeguards we have here in Muggle schools. It's taken a thousand years to get to where we are now, and, as you so eloquently have observed, we're hardly perfect."

Spencer looked almost beaten, but then he rallied.

"That's assuming the choice is between closing the school and continuing the way it's been run before. Usually, my recommendation would be –"

"Unfortunately, there is nothing usual about Hogwarts," Hermione said gently. "I'm afraid it is quite true that the educational needs of wizards are fundamentally different to those of Muggles. It's not just something we're saying to excuse lax standards. The curriculum and the school have evolved over a very long time to best meet those needs, and it simply isn't possible to extrapolate best practice from the Muggle education system."

She continued almost as if she was speaking to herself. "Our world is darker and we grow up quicker. We do our best as teachers, but ultimately we must give our students the tools to defend themselves rather than wrapping them in cotton wool."

Hermione turned her head slightly to address him directly again.

"Magic isn't _safe_, Mr Spencer. I could make you do whatever I like and you wouldn't ever know you're being manipulated. Severus could be someone else entirely – he can make himself look exactly like you if he wants."

Spencer had finally lost his composure, his gaze darting between them.

"We haven't, of course, but pretending that we couldn't won't get us anywhere. Magic isn't just about turning a stone into a bunch of pretty flowers, and we owe it to the students to teach them that."

The inspector looked at them as if he was seeing them for the first time. Severus had seen this particular realisation unfold before; it was the moment when it dawned on someone that magic changed all the things they thought they knew.

It rarely ended well.

Most modern Muggles didn't like the idea of being utterly helpless. They rarely saw further than that: the man being turned into a frog will hardly stop to marvel at the wonders of magic.

"With all due respect, Mr Spencer, this is not your world. Leave it to us," Hermione said, quite gently.

Spencer still seemed unable to form coherent syllables.

"We do care about the students, you know," she said, ignoring the whispered, "Speak for yourself," from Severus. "I believe the safeguarding of the students was your main concern, wasn't it? We might have a slightly different way of going about things at Hogwarts, but it's worked for a thousand years."

"We haven't had any deaths since –" Severus felt compelled to point out, but he was ruthlessly cut off by Hermione;

"The students will be safe with us, I promise." If the sincerity in her voice could have been bottled and sold to politicians, it would have made millions. It would have taken a stronger man than Spencer to hold out to the onslaught. Severus couldn't tell whether it was fear or trust that swung the balance in the end.

"All right. All right. I'll give you an 'Outstanding' and wrap things up."


	5. To Happy Endings

**Chapter 5 **

**To Happy Endings**

**-oOo-**

"Oh, I've seen worse. Not since the end of the war, mind," Hermione overheard Aberforth confiding to one of the Hogsmeade shopkeepers who'd nipped in for a quick drink after dinner. Apparently, Mr Gorman hadn't expected to find his usually quiet local pub rippling with laughter and good cheer.

Hermione saw him throw a quick glance around the pub, and quietly sneak back out into the cold, wet night again. She didn't blame him.

They'd left Hopkins in charge back at the castle. Apart from him, every human member of staff was here – even Filch and Hagrid. The latter had made a triumphant entrance, enthusiastically pumping Minerva's hand and flinging his arm around Sybill's bony shoulders. Now he was shouting something into her ear. Anyone who entered the room walked into a wall of sound; everyone seemed to speak twice as loud as usual.

The exuberance in the air reminded Hermione of the students on the last day of term. The teachers were as giddy as a first-year with a whole golden summer ahead of them.

"And then I told him I would – if I wanted all my hair to fall off!" Draco said to much merriment. Aurora was laughing so much she almost fell off her chair. Even Draco – usually the poster boy of aristocratic reserve – seemed more loose-limbed than usual, and his cheeks were a little pink.

The only staff member who looked exactly like he always did was Severus. He was propping up the bar, surveying the festivities with his usual slight sneer.

"Cheer up, love. It might never happen," Rose Barnicott told him as she passed by, her arms full of concoctions ranging from a simple bucket of beer (Hagrid's) to a dainty cocktail with a slightly bent parasol (Filius', if Hermione remembered correctly from the end-of-term party).

Severus didn't even dignify that with a reply.

Undaunted, Hermione abandoned her glass of below-average Merlot and went to pull out the bar stool next to him. By the simple expedient of getting much too close to him, so he had to move unless he wanted her to practically sit in his lap, she made him clear some space for her next to him.

"Isn't this cosy?" she asked with a cheery smile, which he met with all the scorn it deserved.

"For some, perhaps."

"You, of course, would prefer to live in a cave and never have to see any of your colleagues ever again. And yet I notice you made your way down here tonight, while poor Hopkins is stuck at the castle," Hermione said.

There was a glimmer in Snape's eyes as he answered. "With several hundred students. As much as I deplore the display of frivolity down here, it's preferable to encountering the same dunderheads I'm stuck teaching all day."

Poppy careered past them, her usually immaculate hair flying in the wind. She was pursued by Rolanda, who was cackling with laughter.

"I'll get you, just you wait!" she shouted as she was going past, and Severus curled his lip.

"Each passing moment makes me doubt the wisdom of my decision, however."

"There's always a third option," Hermione pointed out, trying to keep her face as expressionless as possible. The sudden narrowing of Severus' eyes suggested that she was less successful than she would have hoped.

"And what may that be?" he asked. The bland disinterest in his voice was the work of a master.

"You could have a drink with me." Hermione's heart was halfway to jumping out of her ribcage, but she ignored the drumming in her ears and kept looking at him steadily. The least suggestion that she wasn't entirely committed to this would be enough to make Severus bolt, and she'd never get the chance again.

"I am having a drink with you," he pointed out, in an obvious attempt to win time.

He wasn't going to turn her down straight away, then. For the first time, Hermione dared to believe she wasn't chasing after a one-in-a-million chance. The nervous fluttering of her heart slowed down into a steady beat, and her lips quirked upwards a little.

"I'd like to have a drink with you officially, as it were. No plotting or scheming, just because we enjoy spending time together."

Severus let his dark eyes rest on her for several long seconds before he spoke, but Hermione didn't twitch under his scrutiny. She'd long ago learnt not to quail under Severus' hard gaze.

"All right."

Hermione couldn't have helped herself for all the Galleons in Gringotts; her carefully neutral facial expression melted into a wide smile.

"All right? You're agreeing, just like that?

"Not tonight, though. And you're paying, of course," he said with what was almost a proper smile.

They looked at each other, deaf to the noise of their colleagues staging a drinking competition by the next table, and Severus raised his hand as if he was going to- to do something, but the next moment Hagrid (who really couldn't drink half as much as he thought he could) crashed to the floor.

Splinters of wood and pieces of broken glass flew though the air. Aberforth hollered in protest and the moment was gone.

Severus spent the rest of the evening wondering if he'd just made a colossal mistake.

He'd intended to keep his head, play for time, before "All right" had slipped out of him seemingly of its own volition. His heart and mouth had ganged up on his head, and for once he'd taken a leap of faith.

Before they'd ended the sorry mess of an Ofsted inspection he'd told Hermione that Slytherins preferred action to prevarication. Contrary to popular belief this was actually true, as long as you meant following a carefully premeditated course of action rather than recklessly following their fancy. Irritatingly, the Head of Slytherin suddenly seemed to have abandoned the habit of his whole adult life simply because Hermione Granger had smiled at him.

If he didn't pay attention he'd end up following her every whim, and how would that look? People would think he'd gone soft.

And yet he'd do it again, if- no, not if, when it came to it. Severus did nothing by half-measures, and he'd never figured out how not to make a complete fool of himself when it came to women. At this stage it was too late – the best he could hope for was that Hermione would treat him kindly.

As long as she didn't decide that he needed saving he should be quite safe.

Her way of caring for people by making them do what was best for them mightn't suit everyone – Weasley the Witless Wonder was proof of that – but Severus rather thought he could get used to it, after far too many years of no one at all giving a fig for what became of him. No doubt he'd screw it up sooner or later as usual, but one of the nicer things about Hermione was that she usually was perfectly willing to forgive and forget.

One of few benefits of her enduring friendship with Potter.

Rolanda's ruminations about who exactly had been in the tent when the Bulgarian team had taken on _that_ bet at the Quidditch World Championships in '07 was becoming more and more involved, and Severus let his gaze wander.

Perhaps inevitably, it quickly found Hermione. She stared right back at him, eyebrows slightly raised.

Severus was bemused to find that she looked slightly concerned – was she afraid he'd changed his mind? He would have thought that he, of all people, would be acquitted of being flighty when it came to this sort of thing.

Yet, Severus couldn't resist putting her mind at rest. He nodded minutely to her, across Rolanda. It was enough. Hermione's face lit up from within, with that glorious smile she reserved for rare books and lost causes winning after all.

Sybill was clinging on to the sink in what passed for the ladies' in the Hog's Head. The room was veering at a slight angle, and she resolved to bring it to Aberforth's attention. That sort of thing was very disruptive for his customers.

She plonked her voluminous handbag on the shelf above the ancient, cracked basin, and was puzzled to hear a definite 'clonk'. Strange. She'd brought her knitting needles, of course, but seeing as they were going to a pub she was pretty sure there was nothing else in there...

Oh. Of course.

Severus had been rather distracted at breakfast, what with the inspection and all, so she'd managed to swipe his tea mug from under his nose. For some reason he didn't quite like to have his fortune read, so Sybill had to resort to stealth.

She was nothing if not selfless; she liked to stay abreast of her colleagues' futures, should they need to be warned of any impending calamities.

Pulling the slightly manky teacup out of her bag, she noticed with satisfaction that the spell on it had kept the tea leaves pristine. Standing up was becoming rather onerous at this point, so she let herself slip down to the floor with her back to the wall, clutching the cup in her hand.

It took a few moments to locate her glasses again – funny how they kept escaping – but as soon as she found them wedged into her hair, she submitted the tea mug to close scrutiny.

"Curious," she muttered to herself and twisted the mug around. Very curious indeed.

In bad light Severus was a fine figure of a man, not to mention his most touching past (and his Order of Merlin, First Class). In fact, Sybill herself had delicately offered to heal his wounds soon after his return to Hogwarts, only to be rebuffed most rudely. Other witches had met with the same fate, according to rumour in the staffroom. Filius had actually seen Romilda Vane leaving the DADA classroom with her hair smouldering.

He was his own worst enemy, Severus.

It was hard to believe that a man willing to refuse a perfectly lovely young witch – not to mention a sophisticated, mature lady – finally had met his match, but the leaves didn't lie. Severus was about to embark on a successful romantic relationship with the love of his life, and Sybill couldn't wait to see the look on his face when she told him.

She only wished she knew who it was. Could it be...?

She heaved herself up again, and tried to smooth her hair down. Her shawl had been lost somewhere, but she shook her bangles out and even fished a battered lipstick out of her bag. The girl at the department store had told her the orange shade really brought out the colour of her eyes.

Sybill stood back and inspected her handiwork, swaying slightly when she released her grip on the sink.

Severus Snape wouldn't know what hit him.

**-oO THE END Oo-**

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**This story was marvellous fun to write - I hope you enjoyed reading it, too. **

****Reviews are most appreciated and any constructive criticism is very welcome. Anything you want to share will help me write a better story the next time.** **


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